


A Moment in Five and One Dimensions

by starhawk2005



Category: House M.D.
Genre: F/M, Het
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 08:48:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starhawk2005/pseuds/starhawk2005
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The famous moment from Half-Wit, deconstructed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Moment in Five and One Dimensions

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Me own? I wish. Then I could retire while they worked on the show and paid me royalties.

 

| 

**Gregory House**

| 

**Allison Cameron**  
  
---|---|---  
  
**Sight**

| 

Green eyes meet his. They’re half-lidded and intent, watching him, reading his reactions. Her hands come into his line of sight, reaching for his face, and they’re pale and delicate, why didn’t he ever notice that before? 

| 

His eyes are so blue, it’s shocking. Even after more than two years, she still can’t get over their colour. His cheeks are covered with thick, graying stubble, but it’s _him_ and she likes it. She notices he’s not backing away, not pulling back from her, even as she brushes her palms over his cheeks.  
  
**Sound**

| 

“I know this must be a turn-on for you…” he hears his own voice, but it’s lacking in its usual strength and cutting edge. She’s getting to him, and she’s doing it by the most simple of means. Soon there’s only the sounds of heavy breathing, of lips pressing together. He’s trying not to pant, trying not to moan. Trying not to urge her -them– on, even though that’s what he wants.

| 

She can almost _hear_ the rasp of his stubble under her fingers and palms. She does hear his snarky defense, but she ignores it. It’s a fragile attempt, and she has a test to run. She stretches up and presses her mouth to his. The sounds of the kiss are loud, smacking and wet, and it’s difficult for her to remember that this isn’t quite what she came here for.  
  
**Smell**

| 

Her shampoo is nice. Some kind of floral scent that he’s noticed before, and has been saving up for some kind of snarky remark that hasn’t materialized yet. There’s a faint smell of laundry detergent under the hospital reek of her lab coat, and he thinks that he can even smell a residue of perfume. He breathes deeply, taking it all in, and giving himself more oxygen so he can keep the kiss going. And going. And _going_.

| 

He smells exactly the way she predicted, of coffee and with a hint of cigarette smoke, and of something else that she can’t define – manly, musky – but that all men seem to have. It makes her want to curl her hands into his shirt, hold him still, keep him there, so that the kiss never ends. Instead she tries to slowly sneak one hand down towards her pocket.  
  
**Touch**

| 

His hands slip around her as if they have a mind of their own. Sliding around her shoulders, pulling her even closer. There’s the slightly rough texture of her lab coat, and he wishes it was gone, out of the way, so he could spread his hands over her skin. So he could play delicately along her nerves as if he were tickling the ivories back home, or in Patrick’s room. Although touching her bare skin in that way would be more fun than piano-playing. Instead, he enjoys the way her mouth is so soft, her tongue so wet and _pushy_ with his, and he wants to drown in it all.

| 

His stubble is _deadly_ , but his lips are soft, warm. They yield under hers almost right away, and then his tongue is slipping into her mouth, probing, testing. She feels his hands on her, too, and she wishes it was another time and place. A time and place where she’d _want_ his hands on her, instead of feeling that his act of touch might get in the way of her plan. A time and place where he would be touching her, really touching her, not just skimming his fingertips over multiple layers of fabric like this.   
  
**Taste**

| 

Her lip balm tastes minty. Hell, her mouth tastes _sweet_ , period, and he thinks he could get used to this, assuming she isn’t really planning to leave PPTH. He pushes that thought aside, and sucks lightly on her tongue, sampling that particular flavour. One thing at a time.

| 

His mouth tastes like coffee, no surprise there. Maybe even faintly of a Reuben sandwich, but that might just be her imagination. It’s good, though, whatever that flavour is. It’s _him_. And she wants it never to stop, wants to keep tasting him.  
  
**Aftermath**

| 

He’s hurt, but he covers it up with irritation, angry at the fact that she _got_ to him so easily. He grips her wrist a little harder than he realizes, pulling the needle from her hand. Yet, even that’s a turn-on, her wrist imprisoned in his palm. It makes him want to pin her down, make her ‘pay’ for her trickery. And when he releases her, even after she leaves, even after he’s tried to rub all feeling of her mouth from his lips with the palm of his hand, the thoughts remain. The questions, the speculations. What might have been the end result, if she hadn’t pulled the syringe on him? How far would this have gone?

| 

She hadn’t been sure it would work at all. She’d thought that he’d never let her get that close to him, or kiss him. That’s partially why she tried it, because she was so convinced it _wouldn’t_ work. But now that he’s proved to be so…pliable, she’s sorry she went for the syringe. What would’ve happened if she’d just abandoned her plan and kept on kissing him? She leaves him in his office, not looking back. But privately she thinks that this isn’t over. She knows, now, how easily he’ll give in. Maybe that’s knowledge she can _use_.  
  
 


End file.
